What do you want from her, dude? Just bang around a lot (which is fun) or something more substantial (also fun but in a different way)? I hung out with my current girlfriend several times at her apartment before anything actually happened. Hell, i have a best friend and we talked/dated on and off for about two years before anything happened and we're still good friends and we always have this secret between us because my girlfriend would get mad and my friend's boyfriend would get mad if they knew everything about us. I don't know, my point is that you probably did just fine turning her down from what i know about you. Just don't do it again.

This is actually the first time I have been truly embarrassed in quite a while, like turning red and and despite my gratitude almost wishing she hadn't, more wishing I could have just got it going myself.

If it had been a man that offered help it wouldn't have been so bad; I'm just a girl I'm not supposed to know what I am doing with a car anyway (even though I do know for the most part). Somehow a woman helping made me feel like a complete idiot, whereas a guy it would have been: sure, see what you can do to feel like you rescued me here if you feel like taking the time.

You have to understand this car to really get how horrible it all is.

This car is the most ghetto vehicle that has ever been on the road. It is seriously comical. I have never, in my life, been subject to driving such a piece of junk, let alone know anyone with a more hilarious car situation.

We acquired the car from my sister last year, paid $200 for it. We bought it to help er out when we were doing pretty well and she was out of work and hurting. We weren't doing so well as to afford to just give her money, but rather than loan it to her and create some family issue we figured we would just by the junk car she had and either sell it or take a better look at it and see if we could fix it up and have it be Gabriel's car.

By no means will Gabe EVER drive this thing. Not over my dead body. I began driving it at the end of the summer as our truck is still out of commission and I need some means of transport as there is no bus at all within a mile or more of where I live.

It is a early 80something civic. The previous owners, before my sister, must have been some sort of I don't even know what, cholo's or wannbe gangbanger's or something. It has been rattlecanned a sparkly sky blue, lowered to about two inches above the ground. I can't even go over the lowest speed bump at a mile and hour without the whole thing scrapping. When I go around a corner, the mud flap scrapes the pavement.

The drivers side door is finicky. sometimes it works fine. Sometimes it will only open from the outside, sometimes it will only open from the inside.

About half the time the driver side window needs emotional support to roll all the way up. It literally has to be hand guided or it goes off course and gets stuck half way to the top.

The passenger window in the front won't open at all. The passenger door in the back won't open or close.

Sometimes the ignition gets stuck and the key won't turn all the way to come out.

The trunk spring is broken and it must be propped open with an old broom stick.

It sputters out and loses all power like it is running out of gas sporadically.

Other time is suddenly farts out a giant cloud of black smoke for no reason.

If in traffic for more than ten minutes it over heats.

The hood must be popped and the fan jerry rigged up in order to run.

Sometimes the door locks, on the inside, just fall off out of nowhere.

Once, the entire panel on the inside of the driver door came off for no reason and the more I tried to get it back in place the worse it came apart. I ended up driving home holding the driver door shut with one hand. When i got to the house and went to slam the door shut with a kick it suddenly feel perfectly into place as though it had never come off.

The clutch slips when it rains.

There is no radio, but a giant mess of wires hanging out the dash.

If you let it idle it only take a couple minutes before you can smell just how dead you will be if you keep it running and sit in it for ten minutes longer.

Everytime i am parked in the most inconvenient spot possible, where the highest level of humiliation may occur, it decides it doesn't want to start. For example: In front of the school. In the middle of traffic when I kill it by accident. In front of my local market. at the gas station after getting gas. Never when I am at the back of the grocery store parking lot or in front of my own house or at a friends. When it gets all picky about starting it just whine every time you turn the key and won't catch or turn over. It usually takes between five and ten minutes of attempting to start it before suddenly, just when I am thinking of getting out and figuring and calling AAA or other help it just fires right up as though nothing were ever wrong.

The crescendo: It has no license plates.

Why does it have no plates? Because I refuse to put a penny into it. But yes, I do have insurance on it, and if I am ever pulled over I think the cop will be so baffled by that that he will just wave me along.

I don't think I will get pulled over, however. Dozens of times now I have had an officer driving behind me for blocks and block and then s/he just turns away another direction. I think it has a ghetto bubble of protection that surrounds it. The thing is so utterly absurdly ridiculous that it is impossible for any police officer to comprehend what they are seeing in front of them.

But yeah. Some chick just helped me start it and that was EMBARRASSING.

Now that is one hell of a car. I used to have a car that was in teh same spot. I loved it. Well it wasnt that bad, just looked like crap, had tons of problems and had no locks. Or keys for the locks.
It was seafoam green and filthy. We had a boombox in the front seat for music and the headlights would randomly turn off.
I drove that car with a cracked head gasket for weeks untill the engine finally just killed itself.
Now I have a nice car that I hate paying for.

My first car was a 1979 Cutlass Supreme with faded maroon velour interior, a bent gear shift, silver bondo color on the outside, a big ass dent in the passenger door and it would die if it ever got below half a tank of gas. It was humiliating to drive it around, especially my senior year of high school, but it had wheels and could go so yeah.

Half a tank, Shit I hardly ever have more than half a tank.
My shit car was stolen, Then sold to the guy I bought it from. He sold it to a guy who didnt pay him so he stole it back. Then I got it. And he didnt want to sign the tittle becuase he said that wasnt even his name on it and wanted me to fake the signature. So I offered to call the cops for him and he wrote out someones name.
I spraypainted a 23 on the hude to make it a racecar.

I feel a little better hearing others crappy car stories, but at the same time I have had crappy vehicles before but this one just Takes the Cake. (it has no dash lights either, I forgot that in my description, who knows what else i forgot)

My very first car was a '85 (I think) Dodge Colt.

It wasn't meant to be my first car.

I think I have mentioned that my grandpa was a car guy before? Surely I have posted a picture or two of some of the car shows he took me too. Growing up that was a big thing of ours, going to old car shows together.

What was meant to be my first car was an MG Midget, I forget the year, but it was an early one.

My grandpa always wanted to build a car from the ground up. He was, after all, an inventor and a bit of a scientist. I remember when I was very young, between three and five, he had the frame of a car that he had made himself in the garage, he always said he was going to invent his own car. He also used to encourage me to invent all kinds of things out of bits and pieces around the garage. At work, where he used,to take me often for the whole day, he had the bottom drawer of his desk filled with bits of wire and tubing and metal and hoses and washers and all kinds of things just for me to sit and play with and make things out of.

When I was about eight years old he brought me to see the frame of this MG Midget he had somehow got his hands on. He said we were going to build it all the way and it would be mine when I was old enough to drive.

The next seven years he worked on it, and would call me and give me progress reports, and when I went to visit at Christmas and in the summer he would take me to junk yards and we would get this fender or that drive line or spark plugs or a different transmission or any sort of little thing. And we would go put it on together. I remember once having an argument when I was twelve because the engine block was too heavy for me to help him carry it across the lot. He said it wasn't heavy and I said it only felt less heavy to him as he was stronger than me and it got so heated we were both silent. That was the other thing my grandpa and I used to do. Argue. We were too much alike. I remember my favorite argument with him- that same year it was- he told me, while driving, that you cannot teach a child reason, and I argued that of course you could. We went back and forth for a while until he finally lost his temper: silence. And I, calm. I could see him sitting there so frustrated that he just let a twelve year old get the better of him in an argument about whether you could teach a child reason, worse he had let himself get into an argument with a twelve year old about whether you could teach a child reason. That would have been my second favorite argument actually, my first is one when I was in my late teens and I made a point, he disputed it, I countered he scoffed and we went on, again until he was silently fuming and stormed out of the room. Ten minutes later he come back from the library with an open book in hand an looks on me with admiration and pride "I learned something today." he said to me.

We worked on that car together over half my childhood. It was nearly finished as I approached fourteen. he had me pick the leather I wanted and the paint color.

And then I got pregnant. At fifteen. just after he told me the car was finished.

He sold it. Bought me the colt, with the money, that a baby seat would fit in the back of. I never saw my finished car that we built together.

Whenever people talk about their dream cars, all I can think of is that Midget. It is the only car I really want.

My mom had one of those when I was little! I remember standing up in the passenger seat with the top down. Surely we weren't going fast or far because...standing up in the passenger seat with the top down. Yay mom! Anyway, I don't think she had it for long because it wasn't very practical with a three year old.

Pepper, next time you're in a position to be car shopping, consider a Toyota Camry or something made by Toyota. I've had three in the past 17 years and they are great cars that last and hold up well. I gave my 2001 Camry to my youngest brother and it's got well over 250K miles on it and he's driven it cross country a couple of times and has never had a problem. I'm driving a 2008 Camry now that I expect to last for several more years.

Hopefully I will be car shopping before the end of the year, if not then the beginning of next year.

I'll definitely keep Toyota's in mind.

I just need to wait until I have a couple grand to throw down, as I refuse to finance unless I have no other options. Every car financing experience I have had in the past I regretted shortly after. I try to keep my bills to a minimum and pay outright whenever possible. I might not get rich anytime soon being timid about money like that, but saves me a lot of debt too.

Actually, I have never once in my life applied for a credit card. Which I am not embarrassed about at all. I have never had a penny of credit card debt.

That is a smart thing Pepper. Cash truly is King. I haven't had a car payment for 7 years and I like it like that. I wish I would have done it all along. I to have no real concern about having the newest or best looking car. I just want to be able to get from point a to point be safely. My first car was a sky blue Pinto. Lol Not sure what year it was, but it got me everywhere I needed to go and that's all I cared about.

I feel a little better hearing others crappy car stories, but at the same time I have had crappy vehicles before but this one just Takes the Cake. (it has no dash lights either, I forgot that in my description, who knows what else i forgot)

My very first car was a '85 (I think) Dodge Colt.

It wasn't meant to be my first car.

I think I have mentioned that my grandpa was a car guy before? Surely I have posted a picture or two of some of the car shows he took me too. Growing up that was a big thing of ours, going to old car shows together.

What was meant to be my first car was an MG Midget, I forget the year, but it was an early one.

My grandpa always wanted to build a car from the ground up. He was, after all, an inventor and a bit of a scientist. I remember when I was very young, between three and five, he had the frame of a car that he had made himself in the garage, he always said he was going to invent his own car. He also used to encourage me to invent all kinds of things out of bits and pieces around the garage. At work, where he used,to take me often for the whole day, he had the bottom drawer of his desk filled with bits of wire and tubing and metal and hoses and washers and all kinds of things just for me to sit and play with and make things out of.

When I was about eight years old he brought me to see the frame of this MG Midget he had somehow got his hands on. He said we were going to build it all the way and it would be mine when I was old enough to drive.

The next seven years he worked on it, and would call me and give me progress reports, and when I went to visit at Christmas and in the summer he would take me to junk yards and we would get this fender or that drive line or spark plugs or a different transmission or any sort of little thing. And we would go put it on together. I remember once having an argument when I was twelve because the engine block was too heavy for me to help him carry it across the lot. He said it wasn't heavy and I said it only felt less heavy to him as he was stronger than me and it got so heated we were both silent. That was the other thing my grandpa and I used to do. Argue. We were too much alike. I remember my favorite argument with him- that same year it was- he told me, while driving, that you cannot teach a child reason, and I argued that of course you could. We went back and forth for a while until he finally lost his temper: silence. And I, calm. I could see him sitting there so frustrated that he just let a twelve year old get the better of him in an argument about whether you could teach a child reason, worse he had let himself get into an argument with a twelve year old about whether you could teach a child reason. That would have been my second favorite argument actually, my first is one when I was in my late teens and I made a point, he disputed it, I countered he scoffed and we went on, again until he was silently fuming and stormed out of the room. Ten minutes later he come back from the library with an open book in hand an looks on me with admiration and pride "I learned something today." he said to me.

We worked on that car together over half my childhood. It was nearly finished as I approached fourteen. he had me pick the leather I wanted and the paint color.

And then I got pregnant. At fifteen. just after he told me the car was finished.

He sold it. Bought me the colt, with the money, that a baby seat would fit in the back of. I never saw my finished car that we built together.

Whenever people talk about their dream cars, all I can think of is that Midget. It is the only car I really want.

This is more tragic than any tragedy Shakespeare ever wrote.

I've had pretty great luck with cars. My first car was a 97 Infiniti that never gave me any shit (other than vibrating really hard when idling but who would complain about THAT?) until a year or two later when I was driving on the highway and black smoke started coming out from under the hood and I pulled over and ran several yards away but it didn't even do anything interesting like exploding. It never ran again.

I then bought a slightly used Mini Cooper because I was a waitress who didn't pay rent or tuition and thought I was rich. I sold that a few months ago and now drive a Toyota... Corolla or Camry. I don't know which because the name fell off and those all look the same to me.

But it's a seriously great car and I paid like $1,800 for it. You should totally get one, Pepper. It hasn't even pretended to blow up on me.

I knocked into someone who had just bought a fresh ice cream cone, and it splattered on the floor. Not my fault, because she was walking with her elbow out (wtf?), but the lady at the place gave her a new one, and she didn't seem overly upset.

Haha! Ice creams knocking over is hilarious, especially when it's adults. The ice cream cone is such a happy innocent thing and when one splatters on the floor, everyone around with a decent personality will think, "Awwwwww maaaaaan."

I am with a guy that hasn't read much since high school either And he is in his mid thirties now. He does read manuals and woodworking books and things, but pretty much he reads for information, not pleasure.

I give him a book at every holiday anyway. Someday he might read one of them. Or pick up on how happy I would be if he just gave me books at every holiday.

At the same time, he has a tendency to surprise me by the books he has read.

Dad doesn't have too much time to read, and when he does, he just trusts me with a recommendation. On the other hand, mum reads a few writers I like too (Spanish and Latin American, mostly), but also a troubling number of religious books.

It's not the Bible, it's magazines and books by priests and similar stuff. I've never been curious enough to open any of them, except for the magazines, and that was pretty scary.

I also get envious of everyone who's lived in a house full of books, I have friends whose grandparents had tons and tons of books, and all I could think of is that my grandparents went to school for two years then took to work and whatnot. I won't go on, this complex makes me cry.

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